Five Minutes
by Blueberry Absinth
Summary: The princess sits in front of her mirror and brushes her pretty hair. He tells her stories and then intends to go away, but she stops him with eyes that plead: 'Please. Just five more minutes.'... IshiHime, AU


**Random ramblings of the author: **

**Writing this was both a pleasure and a torture. Once I had to put off writing it for a few months... But I love the result 33 'ish exceptionally proud' **

**I s'pose you don't need to be told: REVIEW! You will get virtual cookies (since my rl ones suck... ;( and lotsa love C:C: **

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_~*the princess brushes her long hair, smiling at the empty mirror*~_

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In a far-away kingdom, between forests with animals that bear no description and seas filled with white pearls, stands a golden palace. It shines in the sunlight and outshines the stars at night (People are a bit afraid of its light, but only a little. Something that glitters so prettily can't be bad, can it?)

In there, among silk, pretty pillows and beauty products, forgotten plush toys and teacups, sits a young girl, the heiress to that enormous land.

A small figure in a big room, she ignores everything and still smiles and puckers her lips up after putting on lip gloss. Her mouth is soft, just like everything about her (so soft, you'd be afraid to touch it).

This is a new lipstick that her most favourite maid has brought: the particles in it catch the light and reflect it just like the palace's front. (she thinks, maybe, if she applied enough gloss, no one would notice what lies beneath). And continues.

She is met with sheer perfection on the other side of the mirror. Nothing less than perfection is asked from her.

A princess of marrying age.

Her maids giggle and elbow each other when she is talking with someone (Anyone!) from the opposite gender, try idiotic matchmaking plots, introduce her to fine dukes and exquisite lords, laughing in their quiet annoying way all the while. They often tell her to stop being so evasive, choose a husband, _really, you are making them all wait, I bet they are biting their nails from the anticipation…_

She smiles, shakes her head and says, "Five more minutes."

(One day, after finding that all the annoying maids are no more and the princess looks sadly at her childhood friend.

"They were annoying you," the other girl shrugs at the unspoken question and grins at her royal friend.)

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In a far-away kingdom, in a golden castle, reflecting the light like a mirror, sits a pretty girl brushing her hair and singing a tune she's learned from the leaves and the birds.

She tries to imagine how the poor girls around her age live – in her country and in exotic kingdoms far, far away. What is so different about them? Do they only sit in front of their mirrors, making their hair and making their faces pretty with enormous amounts of make-up? If so, why do they do that – after all, they don't have royalties to impress, do they? There's no one who will examine them carefully, trying to pick out the smallest flaw; no, they don't have such things: they don't have tonnes of people whose good opinion they must earn...

Or, is it harder for them, having only one person to make an impression on?

She can speculate because she's a princess who can't dream and who has to rule a kingdom with a man she doesn't love.

(Really. It isn't that they don't _allow_ her to go out; she just decides to hide in her room, in a place that is lonely but real.)

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In a country closer than usual, in a golden palace which looks amazing in sunlight and under stars, sits a young princess, brushes her hair and listens to her thousands of suitors making noise (quite ungentlemanly, it looks), letting out various non-coherent shouts all supposed to urge her to decide on her future husband. She shakes her head and wonders if down there, there are silent princes who know proper etiquette and don't act like savages in front of a lady's balcony.

(Seriously, there isn't even one note of a love serenade. Where has all the romance gone?)

Her friend urges to go at least see what is waiting for her, despite knowing that she didn't want to (makes a funny face while asking); she just shakes her head and says:

"Tell them to wait for five more minutes."

Her friend just grins and goes to the balcony to yell at the men (takes too much pleasure at that).

The princess smiles and turns to the empty mirror to put shiny jewels in her pretty, pretty hair.

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In a country shrouded in night, there is a golden palace reflecting the stars, looking like a big pearl. In the castle, in a room that is too big, a petite silhouette looks up from her smooth mirror and listens. Most of the noise that has been coming from beneath her balcony all day is gone so she assumes that everyone is away.

She puts her hairbrush away (it's been so tedious, to brush her hair all day) and stands up to go outside on her terrace.

The wind feels nice against her skin, cooling its hot surface, almost making her shiver; her legs appreciate the chance to stretch out and move a little after staying the same position throughout the whole day. She whips her head up and gazes at the stars (_constellations dancing in a sea of inky blackness). _

(what is it like to drown in that numbness?)

She can't see the shape of the moon since it's still low on the horizon and hidden by the trees but it surely isn't full; as it isn't fully absent as well – she can't remember the word. Maybe it's the lack of sleep but she can't remember anything she's learned, studied in order to call herself well-educated. It's a staring contest between her and the sky now.

No fair – the sky has too much eyes.

(and the fireflies are weird too: they keep flying, watching her, waiting).

Probably, the moon will be full in a few nights or so but at this exact moment it is like that: a broken jewel, a chunk of the perfect circle missing, but still managing to shine from an odd angle, creating long and thin shadows, perfectly applying mascara to her face.

Sighing, she leans on the railing and wonders what it'd be like to be someone different, to be able to run away from responsibilities (just like her maids used to do when they were too lazy to perform the routine cleaning), to have only person to give your total, undivided attention to…

"Milady?"

She snaps out of her reverie and looks down to see whose was that nice baritone who'd said that word. All that she notices is a moving shadow, inky darkness, but nothing else.

"Where are you?"

"Right here, milady."

The moving shadow comes out in the light, and she moves to see him, the light making her eyelashes longer, she's sure (rather, it looks like she's crying). At first, it's a bit hard to observe but then, she starts to notice details: dark hair, white clothes, pale skin. His figure is almost glowing. She squints a little and wonders if he is smiling (wants him to).

He appears to study her face so intently, somehow dark eyes boring into her shadow-specked face that eventually she just sends him a shy smile, making his cheeks darken (or is it redden? It's hard to say in the night).

"Why did you wait?" she asks, to break the silence.

"Because you asked to."

Five minutes to wait, for the petty princess to make herself pretty.

She shuts up, a bit startled, feeling the blood rise to her cheeks. She hasn't expected the answer (despite it being obvious), much less the tone he's said it in. Gentle, almost tender in the dark of the night. Silently, she feels the gratitude for the darkness well up in her chest and bursts into a quiet laugh. Most probably, he's heard that, but says nothing nonetheless.

Suddenly, she notices that he is clutching something. Curiosity overwhelming, she leans over, trying to see better, careful not to fall (she wouldn't like to fall. Even for him.).

"What are holding?"

"A book."

She inclines her head to one side. She never thought she'd have a suitor who'd bring a book while coming to ask for her hand. (Interesting. So bloody interesting…)

"What is it about?"

If it's possible, his eyes start shining and he instantly launches off into a long tale about a princess and an unfortunate pea. She brings a chair outside so she can listen to his voice easily and more comfortably. He talks a lot about the story and especially about the message it gives to its readers. She finds herself smiling like there's no tomorrow. In between the serious plot and characters, he throws nice jokes making her giggle and snort. He asks her for opinion and they start heated debates but she ends them when she laughs out loud, having gotten that they are acting like kids.

(he doesn't join in)

Sadly, the lack of sleep takes its toll on her state of mind and she finds herself yawning more often than not.

Of course, he notices that too and quickly asks to be excused that he's kept her so long and he really should be going home now and really, it was nice to talk with her majesty and all, but it is in the middle of the night–

She interrupts him gently, shaking her head, fireflies tangling in her hair:

"Please. Just five more minutes, okay?"

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Five minutes to decide. Five minutes to wake up. Five minutes to dress up. Five minutes to dream. Five minutes to think of sunshine and butterflies and welcome friend with a glomp and a hearty laugh. Five minutes to have breakfast and to meet with new people. Five minutes to say hello to people that she already knows and have a little chat. Five minutes to grin at every possible living being close by. Five minutes to gaze longingly at the servants that come from the kitchen and have the strange desire to go and cook. Five minutes to notice him in the vicinity of the castle.

Five minutes to decide.

Too much things to do in such a little time.

Princess Orihime feels overwhelmed.

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"Princess," slumped in the sofa, her friend asks, just finished shooing the men away, "What was last night's all about? Why was the light on until so late at night?"

Last night, a light so small it barely lit up her big room was lit; it's miracle it's been noticed, though.

"Hehe," she rubs her head, careful not to tangle her hair (she's just finished brushing it; it should be perfect at least for a second; oh dear, when did she stop caring for her hair?), "Well…"

And she launches into a rant, as long as her prince's tale, giggling while remembering the things they'd talked about last night.

(having fun like a little girl)

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In a country, lit by a full moon, a princess stands on her terrace, in her white nightdress, taking in everything around her. She throws out her arms and, feeling the slight wind go through the thin cloth, she smiles.

(Maybe, if she cries, loud and beautiful enough, her knight will come and take all her worries away.

But really, that's too easy and crying has never been her thing.

A lie.)

The moon is full and up in the sky tonight, so there aren't any weird shadows, but she can't help feeling that the scenery is magical. The inky blackness is water-washed today, fading to a starry grey. The eyes of the night are hidden. She smiles, not caring that the fireflies are being overshadowed by the enormous celestial body.

He comes tonight as well and stutters at her wide smile. She giggles at his antics and his face darkens and he keeps silent so she just chastely urges him to continue his tales of thorns and princes and a-hundred-years curses. Under the full moon (no longer a broken jewel; full, high up in the sky), she feels him smile the way she loves and starts from where he's stopped last night.

This time he insists on going home early.

She dreams of golden clouds, purple gowns, toys and paints in the trash, and wonders why she feels so cold in a burning August night.

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"Dear daughter, I assume you know the reason why I have summoned you here," her father states just when she enters the room. He is sitting in a regal chair, clad in purple robes, hands interlaced with the elbows on the table. He's just finished eating but you would never understand that if there wasn't an empty plate in front of him. The man glances at his wife (her mother, not the evil step-mother), then sighs.

The princess nods.

Of course, she knows.

"We, your parents, have gone old," he starts with somewhat of a wistful face, "My sight weakens day by day. Your mother takes more and more time to get up. And there isn't an heir."\

"Sweetie, I know that you don't want to take such a big step," her mother adds, "I should know, I've gone through your age after all. Heh, if I were in your place, doing something like that'd be out of the question. But let's make a compromise: you choose your future husband now, but you don't have to marry him. Okay?"

She bows her head and says nothing. She doesn't want to do that; it's the choice she is most afraid of…

Why do her parents make it so hard to love them?

Slowly, she brings her head up, looks them in the face, then slowly nods.

(silent like a grown woman)

"Okay, Mom, Dad… I will need five minutes."

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Guilt trips have never been her thing nor has she ever been able to resist them so she spends the next night hidden between four walls and under a ceiling. Having gotten used to the open air, the smells, sounds and sights (and words) of the night, she looks over her objects, toys and clothes and tissues and jewels and wonders why everything seems so alien to her.

The eyes of that plush bear are way too beady and shiny; they will never be of any use to a bear (_once she saw a bear, whose pelt was darker than all the ebony decorations in her room, edging closer and closer to the palace but never leaving the safe confines of the woods; it was magical but she was so afraid for her bard, oh so afraid_). The light given off by the candles is way too unnatural, nothing like the soft, calming green of the fireflies (_every night when he is late, she will have fun with the fireflies, dancing with them, catching them and telling them stories of talking animals and forest magicians and fairytale dreams that will never come true_).

The air is still, it is too hot in here and her reflection is laughing at her and she wants to go out so much it isn't even funny.

Five more minutes. Five more minutes and she'll go out to greet him.

She can't let him go.

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She's up early the next day not because she fell asleep early.

The real reason is insomnia.

Nightmares, thick and grey like the shadows in the corners of her room, like swamp water, plagued her dreams all night. She would wake up every second and gaze at the all-too-dark ceiling and wonder where her boy was.

If he was waiting for her under the sky, breathing air that doesn't kill him every time he breathes.

Later on that day, she asks her friend to give her piano lessons.

"Huh? I thought you were bad at playing whichever instrument."

"Well, I won't know until I try, right?" she rubs her head sheepishly and grins all the while.

The other girl laughs, loud and bright and real and sunny and pats her on the back.

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Once she gets a hold of a piano, Princess Orihime decides she wants to recreate what she has heard and sensed night after night, under the starry sky, a blob of black hair under her balcony. The night birds, the quiet noises coming from the nearby lake. The stars twinkling up in the ink people call a sky, trying to outshine the moon.

The first time she tries it, the instructor tells her she doesn't understand how a piano works.

She refrains from telling him he doesn't understand how dreams work.

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Nights go by but she never gets used to the feeling to be in her room. She will toss and turn until her hair gets so tangled that she has to get up and go to that fake mirror, take the comb and brush her hair to oblivion.

She misses him, doesn't even try to deny it. She wants to see his cheeks darken (or was it redden? She can't remember anymore), wants to giggle at his antics and lose herself in his voice and imagine lands far, far away, filled with chocolate pastry trees and talking animals.

But she isn't a peasant girl, can't love only one, can't give her attention to only one; she is a princess who needs to be a perfect doll latching off on someone's arm and smile when she only wants to cry.

So she mustn't see him again.

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"Dear?"

"Yes, mother?"

"Have you–?"

"Yes, I have, mother."

"…Good."

Pitiful is the feeling when you can't embrace the one you love just because norms tell you not to.

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In a kingdom, shrouded in mourning black, in a castle that reflects the dusk, on a balcony with dirty white tiles, stands a young girl, a princess, trying to memorise every detail of the scenery in front of her.

The night is breezy, not overly cold, nor overly hot. Once, that alone would have made her happy. She would smile ear to ear, shake her hair, not caring about the knots, and look up to the fireflies. She would hum a song she's learned from the leaves and the birds. Then she would hear a quiet 'Milady?' and her smile will turn into a full-pledged grin.

And from the shadows her knight will come out and would glance at her gently from eyelashes way too long for a knight and she'd giggle and he'd laugh and then they would start talking.

From now on she must never have to see him again.

Hell, she doubts she will see him tonight too.

"Milady?"

Her heart jumps at his voice but she chides it and calms it down. She mustn't let her feelings show; especially now.

'_Think of it as a rehearsal for your life later on.'_

"Why are you here?" but first she has to know; she wouldn't be able to live with herself otherwise.

"Because milady asked me to. Don't you remember?"

Oh, yes. Five more minutes. But what are they going to change anyway?

What is the point of them?

He doesn't say anything else and she hates that silence of his. He has never shut up for so much before. She realises she can't stand the silence as she finds her mouth speak on its own accord.

"So you know of the decision?" both of them know what she is speaking of so why name it and make even more real?

He simply nods as a reply.

"I must say, milady, that your choice is finest. I'm sure that you will–"

"Shh," she quietly interrupts him and he seems to understand as he falls silent.

Another long-stretched silence between them. She doesn't know what to say; she doesn't know how to stop those emotions bubbling her chest, those tears that are on the verge of falling.

When she hears his voice again, she jumps and realises she won't ever hear that again.

"You know, milady… I'm not a prince."

His words are soft-spoken and quiet and greatly confuse her. But then she remembers: she doesn't really know him, she's only been listening to his stories and nothing else.

"What are you then?"

"A bard."

The tears bubble up, roll on her left cheek, then on her right and suddenly she's crying with all her might and imagining running away, escaping with him, not caring about anything, just to be with him and smile every day. But she isn't the one to do that, she is tied down to everything and that's why she's crying and she wants to jump to freedom with him, wants to be away from those four walls and–

He doesn't say anything.

"Farewell."

–_my dreams–_

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In a pretty kingdom made of lace, velvet and hypocrisy, a pretty princess with a pretty hair, neatly combed back (finally it's combed) marries a young and handsome prince. Together with him, she rules wisely and creates a golden era of her kingdom. She lives to an old age, having born lots of children and having lots of grandchildren.

In front of fireplaces, parents tell her story to their children and inspire them to be like her.

There is another story from that time.

A story of a man, a bard with hair like a raven's feathering and eyes that hide enormous sadness, charming the peasant women but not even once giving a girl's undivided attention. His songs speak of love that blossomed despite rules and died because of them; his songs always move the listener to tears; and his stories take away everyone, even the most down-to-earth adult, to places where only a young girl with orange tangled hair used to wander.

However, those stories never intersect. They exist independently from each other, despite the fact that they were created thanks to each other.

But the fireflies continue to scour the ruins of that place, mourning for something that was never to be but shall always be.

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_Stupid heart, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid stupidstupidstupidstupid– _


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